


Tactical Maneuvers

by MorganOfTheFey



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bottom Cullen, Cock Sucking, Cullen has a small dick, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Praise Kink, Roleplay, Stripping, Sub Cullen, Trans Adaar, desecrating a perfectly good desk, face fucking, forcing Cullen to accept compliments, no feminizing or humiliation about it tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 20:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10474221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganOfTheFey/pseuds/MorganOfTheFey
Summary: Cullen asks Adaar for one night where he doesn’t have to be the Commander, or give orders, or make any decisions at all. He never imagined her idea of taking control away from him is very assertively sucking his cock …





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey I'm finally back from the dead and not working on any of my WIPs because I'm a piece of shit hahaha
> 
> anyway! finally beat back the writer's block for this :)
> 
> no trigger warnings that I can think of. Cullen does briefly imply that he had sex with other templars / his superior officers for Not Good reasons and it was pretty unhealthy, but it doesn't go into any more detail than that
> 
> full nsfw commission feylen did for me just below this! you can find them under that name on tumblr or patreon

**xxx**

Stripping out of full battle armor takes time. Cullen worries Adaar will get bored or, even worse, pretend she doesn’t mind despite her disappointment, despite his inexperience, despite his shaking hand fumbling at his other gauntlet.

But he sneaks a glance to find her still patiently leaning back against the door, dark eyes warm and steady on him like the heat from the fire burning in the hearth. His gauntlet drops to the desk, and he tugs off the leather glove underneath it with his teeth. Adaar’s eyes drop down to his lips.

Taking off the next gauntlet is easy enough with one hand free, but he uses his teeth on the other glove just to see that look again. He’s already half-hard, and he wonders if she is too, although technically it doesn’t matter. They agreed beforehand that his hands will stay above her waist.

“Do you know why I’m here, Knight-Templar?” Adaar asks.

Cullen pauses in reaching for his fur mantle next. “No, ma’am."

They didn’t discuss a specific situation. He’d just asked to not be the Commander for one evening, for something more than hasty make out sessions on the battlements.

That had been a week ago, and tonight was the only free time available in both of their schedules. And it had actually been scheduled in. Officially, they were in a meeting on “tactical maneuvers."

Blackwall hadn’t dropped his shit-eating grin all week since. Dorian left a “gift basket” on his desk of soap, condoms, and a veritable bouquet of scented oils. Varric tried to offer advice, but it turned into a story about Hawke and an improbable number of bar maidens.

Sera drew him a total of seven different diagrams.

“I heard you show …” Adaar drags her eyes up and down his body. “Promise."

Cullen feels himself flush. He knows it’s just an innuendo, can practically hear her jokingly add that “promise” won’t be all he’s showing tonight, but the praise still burns through him. Makes him want to stand up straighter and wish for another order so he can please her even more.

Like a puppy who just found out he’s a good boy.

“I wanted to see such talent for myself,” Adaar says, a smirk flickering at the corner of her lips.

“As you wish,” Cullen replies, but then he stammers on her title. “Ah … um."

“Ma’am, Inquisitor, Adaar—all of those are fine,” she says, perceptive as always.

He nods slowly, but bites his lip against the request instead of picking one.

“Do you want to call me something else?” Adaar asks.

Cullen manages to nod again, but the words still stick in his throat. It’s taken a lot just to accept within his own mind what he wants, and trying to voice these things to another, even to her, still makes all the old sermons about sin and lust come rushing back.

“Yes, Revered Mother," he murmurs.

Adaar cocks her head like she’s been given a new puzzle to tinker with, but then she hums and nods.

“You may address me as such,” she tells him, then grins wryly. “Although if you need to shorten the title, I’d prefer you stick with the Revered half."

Cullen's blush comes back full force as he gives a shaky nod. “Of course."

Her eyes cut down to his pauldron, then back up to his, the command clear. He reaches for it again and she smirks as he continues undressing, but he stops again once he has the fur in his hands. Should he put it on the desk with his gauntlets or just drop it on the floor? They’re having—well, they’re going to have sex, for Maker’s sake, so if ever there was a time to forget tidiness and decorum it would be now, but his hands are still uselessly clutching the fur.

“I expect you to fold that neatly, Knight-Templar,” Adaar says, voice easy and smooth but unmistakably commanding.

“Yes ma’am."

Now he has a Task. Fold the pauldron, place it neatly on the desk, move on to the next piece of armor. No questions or doubts, just following orders. The strangeness of undressing in front of someone begins to fade as he undoes his greaves. Not any room for privacy in soldier’s barracks, and Cullen soon drops into the old habit of stripping quickly and efficiently.

“You’ve done well in training recently, Rutherford."

Cullen nearly drops his breast plate at the sound of Adaar’s voice combined with the unexpected compliment. “I, ah …"

“You learned that move I showed you very quickly,” she continues.

They had been sparring together recently, and he remembers that she actually did show him a new way to counter one of her holds.

“Yes, well.” He drops his eyes back down and busies himself placing the breastplate on his desk just so. “You are a very good teacher."

Adaar clucks her tongue with a shake of her head. “That’s not what I said. I told you that you’ve done well. Do you doubt my judgement, Knight-Templar?"

“No, of course not,” Cullen immediately replies.

“Then you should acknowledge the compliment.” Adaar pauses and grins at him. “If you don’t want to say thank you, and you can just say you know."

“Know what?"

“That you’ve done well."

Cullen blinks at her. Accepting a compliment enough to just say thank you without deflecting already sounds far too prideful. Just saying “I know” in response seems outright Orlesian.

“Why would I say that?” he asks.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Adaar drawls. “Because you have self-confidence and love yourself?"

“There’s role play and there’s unrealistic,” Cullen says deadpan.

Luckily, Adaar finds that funny and not insolent, and she just snorts before getting back into character.

“Then I suppose a simple ‘thank you ma’am’ will have to suffice.” Her voice quiets from their shared dry humor to an edge of authority. “Won’t it, Knight-Templar."

“Yes, Revered Mother.” Cullen swallows, and has to look away to force the words out. “Thank you, ma’am."

“Good boy."

He concentrates on the wooden grain of his desk, but still can’t keep yet another blush from spreading.

“As you were."

Stripping, she means. That’s what he had been doing. Thankfully, she lets him continue without interruption now. By the time he has all of his armor off, down to just his tunic and trousers, he’s already starting to drift into that calm space without any thoughts or fears. Only the calm faith praying used to bring, and then the lyrium, and now--

Cullen pulls his shirt up and off. The fire has kept the room warm enough that he doesn’t shiver, but it’s across the room and this side is a bit cool. That’s what he tells himself at least, as he feels his nipples tighten under Adaar’s gaze. Her eyes sweep between each of his nipples and the silver chantry amulet that hangs between them. He always keeps it tucked beneath his breastplate, and unlike most others, the undying flame of the amulet is encased in a circle, so that he can flick the flames and they’ll spin within it.

He reaches for the metal and does exactly that without consciously thinking about it. One of the flame edges has been worn nearly to a nub, the one his thumb always finds to start the familiar flick-and-spin that grounds him, reminds him of his faith, keeps him focused.

Adaar waits patiently with no hint of judgment on her face while he settles himself, and he feels gratitude swell into a lump in his throat. But he doesn’t know how to thank her with words, so he drops his eyes down to the hearth and pulls the laces free on his trousers, shoving them down without ceremony. They’re pulled off, folded, and placed with his armor while she watches him, eyes half-hooded when she drags them across his body like a physical caress. Her body is relaxed, but he’s seen big cats look just as water-fluid right before they pounced.

This would be easier if she would pounce on him, drag him to the floor, pin him down. She has height and weight—and if he’s honest, muscle—to her advantage, versus his lighter speed and harder-pressed discipline.

Maker knows he’d enjoy being held down and fucked.

But he still hates himself for that sometimes, and the last thing he wants is to drag even more of his fucked up issues into what should be a good thing, the best thing to ever—

“This is an inspection, Knight-Templar,” Adaar’s voice blessedly cuts through the knotted tangle of his thoughts. “I want to see all you have to offer."

Her voice doesn’t leave room for arguing, but her arms uncross and she gently taps the backs of her knuckles against the doorframe once. Cullen exhales slowly and taps his against the desk once in reply. Once of anything is always yes, twice is no. He wants this night to happen, he just needs the command to push past all the nasty thoughts and actually get him to do it.

“Strip,” she orders.

He pushes his smalls down too. Fold. Desk. Next order.

Don’t worry about all his scars. Or if his chest hair is thick enough or if she’d prefer he had shaved like Bull or—anything about Bull really, not now, not about his lingering fears that she really does mind—he’s heard people talk, the gossip about him because they’ve seen him on the training grounds with a sword, and yes maybe he is very good at that, but they assume the rest of his body will be equally impressive and it is ...

Not.

Not even average, not even with a nervous adrenaline-erection. Physical strength and battle prowess and a possibly handsome face don’t necessarily correlate to.

To that.

“At attention, Knight-Templar."

Cullen does so immediately, legs shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back, chin high and eyes staring blankly ahead. Forces his breathing to even out as he gazes into the fire. Reminds himself that she said she doesn’t like to be fucked anyway, so his size is irrelevant. The familiar pose helps too, nudging his mind back into the drifting place again.

Adaar shifts in his peripheral vision as she pushes off the door and stalks closer to him, briefly coming into his direct line of sight before abruptly veering out of it to circle around him. Her fingertips trail unexpected across the back of his shoulder, but he doesn’t flinch, although it’s harder not to make a pleased noise when she clasps where his neck and shoulder meet.

“I haven’t had any reason to doubt your loyalty, Rutherford,” she murmurs from behind him.

He breathes deep and pushes the rules a bit by staying silent. Technically, that wasn’t a compliment. It was an observation. Adaar responds by pulling his body back against her own, and he goes willingly, trusting her to support him. Her chin nuzzles against his hair, and she has to twist her head to the side to get her lips low enough to speak into his ear.

“I’m proud of you."

“Th-thank you, ma’am,” he chokes out.

Her left hand moves forward to curl around his throat and her right smooths a long caress from his pec, down his ribs, and to his hip. He doubts she misses the way his cock twitches from her petting him.

“You swore to be patient,"

Her thumb rubs little circles into his hipbone, then dips down further to follow the v muscle to the start of his golden curls, pressing in just there.

“And obedient."

Adaar gives the top of his ear a quick nibble, but Cullen grits his teeth and stays still. She hasn’t retracted her earlier order for him to stand at attention yet, and so he maintains his pose as best he can with her draped over his back.

“To protect the innocent from harm,"

He bites back a whine when her right hand moves from his hip to trace a scar over his left side, her forearm just barely not brushing his cock where it’s already heard enough to press up against his stomach. As far up as it can reach, that is.

“And serve as a beacon of faith."

She tugs on his amulet, just a brief pull, but it still makes him suck in a sharp inhale, makes him picture her dragging him by it, leading him like a dog on a leash, pulling it tighter and—

“You’ve upheld your oaths so well."

Cullen does let out a whine then, but her left hand squeezes a little tighter, reminding him to bite back all of his protests and objections. He can feel her chest pressed against his back, her breathing deep and slow, and she allows them to stand in silence for a moment while he tries to mimic it until he can speak steadily.

“Thank you, ma’am."

“See? You’re a good boy."

He can’t stop the shudder that sends through him either, but Adaar doesn’t laugh at his weakness or sneer in disgust. Another kiss to the tip of his ear and a quick nuzzle through his hair again.

Safe. It’s just the two of them and they’re both safe.

“But there’s more to service than just out in the field,” Adaar tells him, her thumb stroking over his throat. “I’d like a more personal demonstration."

“As you wish, Revered."

She urges him to tip his head to the side and dips her own to press a smirk, then a quick bite, to the side of his neck. “And what do you wish, Rutherford?"

He shivers again at his name and blinks heavily at the room in front of him. “What you do, ma’am."

Adaar gives his amulet a harsh tug, reminding him she still has him practically on collar. “What I wish is to know what you want, Knight-Templar."

Cullen huffs and flexes his hands against his wrists where they’re clasped behind his back. His arms behind him like this prevents her from fully pressing up against him, from him feeling if she’s just as hard as he is. Yet she’s stripped him bare and now expects him to go a step further.

If words came easily to him, he’d be a diplomat, not a soldier.

But for her, he tries.

“I …” He takes a deep breath. “Would like."

Maker, what does he even want? A thousand ideas bubble up, but they’re all half-formed and trickle away like smoke. He knows what physical sensations will make him come. He is a soldier after all. Love and women and relationships may all be new for him, but hurried handjobs and messy cocksucking isn’t.

He shakes those thoughts away though, because they tend to spiral down into times when his commanding officers didn’t stop to check if he was all right and truly did expect “personal demonstrations” in exchange for promotions. Or just not being sent out to the front lines.

Adaar lets go of his amulet and taps his chest once, and he forces himself to relax again, one body part at a time. Then turns his head to press a kiss into her jaw, once. Once always means yes, and she takes his amulet back in her hand again, but doesn’t press him for an answer yet. Cullen closes his eyes and lets his mind drift.

He can’t think of a real plan, or even an actual sex act. Probably better words for it than that too. But that’s why she’s in charge, not him. So he narrows down as much as he can, just tries to think of one thing he wants. Leave it up to her to decide how to make it happen.

But even after he chooses, he still has to say it out loud.

Maker take him.

“May I show you, ma’am?” Cullen finally asks.

“Mmm.” Adaar smiles and presses her thumb gently into the hollow of his throat for a second. “That’s certainly acceptable. At ease."

That allows him to unclasp his hands and relax, although he simply enjoys her embrace for another moment before reluctantly pulling forward. He glances behind him to see if this is allowed, then pushes it even further by taking her hand and leading her to stand in front of him. Adaar’s smile stays indulgent, so he goes for it and starts herding her backwards toward his desk. Her eyebrow quirks up in curiosity, but she allows it.

“Do you want to lead, Commander?”

He shakes his head, even as he presses her back against the desk. “No, ma’am. Just following from the front."

She throws her head back when she laughs, loud and full. He’s probably smiling like a fool when she looks back at him, but it’s worth it to please her so much.

“Well, I’m more than happy to lead from behind,” Adaar purrs back at him, giving his ass a firm squeeze.

That makes his whole face burn, but the embarrassment isn’t enough to diminish his smile.

“Now.” Her voice slants toward serious again. “What do you want with the desk, Knight-Templar?"

Cullen takes another deep breath and leans up to kiss her. She hums approvingly into the kiss and quickly takes it over, one of her hands cupping his jaw to tilt his head exactly how she wants it. He almost gets lost in the sensation when her tongue swipes into his mouth, but he has orders to show her what he wants.

And he’s nothing if not obedient, so when his hands drop down to the backs of her thighs, it’s just following orders. He only doing what she told him to when he urges her to hop up on the desk, pulling her legs around his waist, sucking on her tongue in his mouth like he wants to suck her cock.

A sharp yank on his hair has him gasping out of the kiss, but it’s not a one-two tug, not a stop signal, just a firm hand holding his head in place.

“You want this, Rutherford?” Adaar’s voice is nearly a growl.

He’s not allowed to touch her first, nothing her smalls cover, but she’s clearly the one in charge here and that dirty grind of her hips against his was all her own doing, cocks briefly pressing together through the fabric still covering her. It’s easier to show than to tell though, and yes doesn’t nearly cover how much he wants her anyway.

So Cullen sweeps all his armor and paperwork off his desk.

The hand in his hair tightens until he gasps again, and then Adaar’s mouth is back on his, swallowing down his groans. Her other hand grips his ass harder, pulling him closer, and he climbs up onto the desk with her until he can straddle her waist, but she keeps tugging him forward.

“Shuffle up, sweetheart,” she orders with a smirking leer.

“I—“ Cullen swallows and clears his throat. “Is that … really …"

But he’s already obeying, of course he is, because that’s what she told him to do. Adaar’s smirk softens as he shuffles rather awkwardly, unsure how exactly he should—is it OK to just sit on her? What if she doesn’t actually want what he thinks she does and is referencing some totally different sex act he’s not even aware of that doesn’t involve his cock in her face?

“C’mere.” Her hands both move to his thighs, moving him right where she wants him, sitting on her collarbones with his legs spread wide for his knees to still rest on the desk past her broad shoulders. “That’s a good boy."

“Ma’am,” he croaks out.

Adaar just rubs his thighs and coos at him. “Shh, you’re all right. Such a good boy for me with your pretty little cock. You still wanna be my Knight-Templar, sweetheart?"

“This would n-never—“ Cullen stammers when she licks a stripe up his cock. “Oh, Maker, fuck. Would be blasphemous to … hnnn."

“Blasphemous not to eat this fine ass,” Adaar mutters with another firm squeeze, before placing an open-mouthed kiss to his base.

“Ma’aaahhhh!"

She snickers as his thighs tense in a desperate attempt to keep his hips still and gives him another lick from balls to shaft.

“You belong to me."

One of her hands wraps around his cock and guides it down so she can lick the wet tip.

“Yes,” Cullen gasps out.

“And so does this."

Adaar gives him a quick suck, tongue swirling around the head, and his next groan ends in a whimper while he frantically nods. She pulls off with a slurp that makes him whine and curl in on himself over her because it’s so obscene, it’s blasphemous and wrong and Maker it has to be a sin if it feels this good.

“Rutherford.” Nails scrape from his down to the inside of his knee. “Look at me."

Cullen forces his eyes back open, but that’s even worse, because seeing her face down between his thighs, brown eyes nearly turned black with desire, lips slick with spit from their kissing—he has to grab the base of his cock to keep from spending right then. Adaar just grins even wider.

“Good boy, you’re so well-behaved,” she tells him.

“Thankyouma’am,” he grits out in a rush just to get it out of the way, then says what he really wants. “Please."

“Yes,” she says. “You’ve done well, and you deserve a reward. Not like you’ll choke me anyway."

She says it casually enough he believes she truly didn’t mean that as a slight, but the reminder that he doesn’t have enough cock for that to even be a possibility burns through him as equal parts embarrassment and shameful arousal.

Her hand nudges his out of the way so she can guide him back into her mouth, and only the Maker himself can hold Cullen responsible for the noise he makes. His own hands scrabble to find purchase, ending in him hunching forward to grip the edge of the desk just above her head. He lets his head drop down with another low moan when she sucks again.

Adaar pulls back off, and he shivers from the cool air on his wet cock, eyes clenched shut as he fights not to buck his hips to chase the heat of her mouth.

“You had an order to look at me, Knight-Templar."

Cullen shudders out a shaky exhale and blearily forces his eyes back open. There’s more slickness smeared across her lips, down to her chin, and he doesn’t know if that’s her own spit or his pre-come. He clenches down harder on the desk, the sharp edge of the wood biting into his palms in a desperate bid for control as his cock pulses and leaks even more slick.

He tries to scoot back, but Adaar keeps a firm grip on his thighs, forcing him still. With a wicked look up at him, she sticks out her tongue and holds it there until the pre-come beading at his tip drips down and falls into her mouth. His breath hitches on a sob, but she just draws her tongue back in and makes a sucking noise, humming thoughtfully like she’s considering the merits of a fine wine.

“Like catching snowflakes.” She winks at his scandalized look. “Think if I catch enough of them, I can give you a snowball?"

Cullen isn’t sure if the groan that draws from him is mortified, exasperated, or absolutely desperate for it. His Inquisitor seems to have perfected eliciting that combination from him.

Adaar chuckles at him. “Don’t worry, this is a reward, not torture."

“Really?” Cullen breathes as she nuzzles the golden curls around his cock. “Because that pun hnnng!"

She flicks her tongue hard over his slit again, and he snarls in the back of his throat, pushing past the pleasure to finish his sentence.

“H-hurt me."

“Aww.” She makes a sympathetic coo, but her gaze is all lecherous. “Should I kiss it better?"

“Maker’s breath, just—“ Cullen growls out, finally giving in and rocking his hips forward.

The very next second, he realizes what he’s done. He has the Inquisitor pinned to his desk and just shoved his cock in her face, like some kind of base ani—

Adaar swallows him down whole, sucking harder when he lets out a strangled groan. Her eyes sparkle up at him with smug amusement at how easy it is for her to get him to the root. The light scrape of her teeth against his shaft both makes him shout and reminds him he definitely isn’t the one in control of this scene.

“Please!” he gasps.

She lets his cock slip out of her mouth instead, practically smacking against his stomach, voice low when she asks, “Please what, Rutherford?"

“Ma’am,” he immediately corrects himself. “Please, ma’am."

But Adaar only tuts at him. “You have to tell me what you want."

“I—fuck!"

With another snarl, Cullen pushes forward, rubbing his cock over her lips to show her. Her lips are soft and wet and her tongue flickers out for just a second against his shaft, and he grits his teeth as he hunches over her.

“Want what?” she breathes against him.

“Suck me!” His voice drops to a low growl. “I want you—yes, Maker, all of it."

Adaar practically purrs around him as she swallows his cock down, and he doesn’t even register that he’s dropping down to his elbows until they slam onto the desk above her head.

“Don’t stop,” he orders breathlessly.

The door is locked. He knows this, saw her lock it, but the thought of someone walking in to see him completely naked, on his knees and elbows while he fucks the Inquisitor’s face has him bucking his hips forward until her nose touches the curls at his base.

“Swallow."

He isn’t coming yet, trying his damnedest to hold back for just another minute, one more minute of pleasure like his blood is fire, but Adaar still swallows around him anyway and the feeling of her throat working his cock has him panting and baring his teeth.

“Yes, fuck, let me—Daar, just lemme—"

Cullen's words slur as he starts fucking into her mouth in earnest, no rhythm or finesse, just trying to pull his cock out and shove it back in as often as he can. He thinks he might still be talking or maybe just making desperate noises, but he can’t focus on anything except how blindingly good it feels.

Her nails scrape down his thighs and he shouts again, or maybe he sobs, he’s not sure, he just—it’s so—needs to—

“Make me, ma’am Daar please—ahhhh!” Cullen squeezes his eyes shut and grits the words out. “Make me come."

Adaar growls around him, and that definitely does wrench a sob from his throat, and then another when one strong forearm pins across his thighs to hold him still. He’s pleading out some sort of protest, but then her other hand curls under his ass and between his legs, two fingers pressing behind his balls to a spot that makes him scream.

She keeps swallowing around him as he presses his cock as deep as he can get it, unable to move his hips but still throbbing wildly in her mouth as he finishes down her throat, one pulse after another until he thinks he’s going to pass out from it or possibly die or—

Cullen is still panting for air when Adaar easily manhandles him back down, pushing his thighs back until they’re limply draped across her waist and he’s laying on top of her with his face pressed into the crook of her neck. She smooths a hand from the back of his neck all the way down to his ass, and then does it again, and again, like she’s soothing a horse that’s just been ridden hard.

“Good boy, you did so well, such a good boy for me, kadan."

He breathes out slow, trying to follow the pattern of her breaths while she continues to pet him, murmuring praise the whole while. Eventually, his voice feels steady enough to speak, although his throat is a bit raw.

“I did not mean to order you,” he says. “I’m s—"

“Shh,” Adaar interrupts. “You weren’t ordering me around. Just … bossy begging."

The tension bleeds out of him, and he relaxes with a chuckle. She presses a kiss into his hair and he sighs, eyes drifting shut before he suddenly remembers and props himself up on one elbow to look at her.

“Do you—would you like to?” His voice trails off as his fingers brush against the band of her pants.

Adaar kisses him again, pulling his hand back up. “Next time."

“I—“ Cullen pauses with a blush, but still hesitantly continues. “I may have some ideas. For that. Next time."

She grins up at him, eyes glittering with pride like when he wins one of their sparring matches or beats Dorian at chess. “I’d say I’m all ears, but my cock’s pretty interested in that too."

He drops back down to snuggle against her with a laugh, sighing happily again when her hand comes up to pet his hair next. His eyelids feel heavy, and he yawns into her neck, then frowns.

“We should get up now."

“I got it."

Before he can ask Adaar what she means, she’s scooping him up in her arms and standing, carrying him bridal style.

“You don’t actually have to—to—um."

“I know,” she replies easily, then grins down at him. “But it’s kind of hot, right?"

Cullen lets out a breath and hides his smile in her shoulder. “Perhaps."

She carries him across the room to the ladder up to his loft, and it is a bit disappointing when she sets him down so he can climb up first. He wonders how else she could pick him up, how long she could hold him, pinned against a wall maybe.

“You know,” Adaar says as he climbs the ladder. “I might have some ideas for next time too."

He glances over his shoulder to see her staring wolfishly at his ass, which happens to be at the perfect height for her to give a sharp bite.

Maker preserve him.


End file.
